


i need my space

by egaliteoulamort (hockeydyke)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, Science, Science Fiction, Steve Rogers Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeydyke/pseuds/egaliteoulamort
Summary: Or, Bucky Barnes learns how to be a human being again through the power of science & love. But mostly science.The first few steps in recovery, for both Bucky and Steve.





	

 

            Bucky Barnes is not the same person he was before.

            (“Hardly even a person at all anymore,” he likes to add whenever he has the chance)

            (Steve rolls his eyes at this, but it makes his heart hurt)

            Anyway, Steve knows this, and he forces himself to keep it in mind while he and Bucky arrive in Wakanda and Bucky is taken away for medical treatment. He reminds himself of it while he’s rescuing his team from the Raft, and he especially thinks of it when Bucky pulls him aside as soon as he gets back and tells him he wants to go back into cryo.

            After all, it’s Bucky’s choice, and it’s one of the first ones he’s had the freedom to make in seventy-odd years. So who is Steve to take that away?

            _His best friend,_ Steve thinks, before shoving the thought out of his mind and reminding himself that he’s being selfish.

            _You can’t expect him to be what he was to you before. You’re both different people. Don’t force him into it._

            This doesn’t make it hurt any less when, even after Bucky has been revived and gone through several sessions with Wanda and the doctors T’Challa employs to work on the problem of removing his trigger words, he still spends more time ignoring everyone than talking to them-- especially Steve.

            Steve wants to help with all his being. He won’t admit it, of course, but his current job status (read: Captain of Nothing) makes him itch for something to do, to make himself feel useful. If he goes too long without doing something for the world, he starts to wonder what the point was of him surviving the plane crash and waking up in the future, only to waste his days staring at his ceiling and trying to will himself to get out of bed. So, yeah. He’s ready to throw himself into the group effort of Helping Bucky Barnes Stop Being A Ghost.

            If only Bucky would have him.

            Bucky is a hell of a lot quieter than he ever was before. Usually they-- they being Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Scott, and T-Challa, now and then-- only see him when he proceeds to the medical wing of the palace for his daily therapy sessions, prowls the hallways for reasons unknown to them, or at the occasional meal time. Even then, he usually just grabs his food and leaves with only a quick word or two to Natasha in Russian. On good days he even banters with Sam for a bit. He hardly ever speaks directly to Steve.

            “Which is funny,” Sam points out while he and Steve are jogging in the godawful Wakandan summer heat one day when Steve brings up the subject, “since all he ever talks about is you, when you aren’t around.”

            Steve finds this hard to believe. “Why does he never talk to me, then? He’s always welcome. I wouldn’t force him to talk about what happened to him if he doesn’t want to. Surely he knows that.” He slows to a leisurely walk when he sees that Sam’s entire shirt is slicked wet with sweat. “We were-- we were everything to each other, before.”

            “Maybe that’s the problem, then.” Sam takes the opportunity to take a few deep breaths and sprawl out in the shade against the building. “He’s working against years of brainwashing and he has limited memories. So he’s kind of building up his personality almost from scratch. It’s fine with all of us because we’ve only read about him in books and shit, so we don’t know the difference. But there’s a lot more pressure with you because you know him better than anyone. No exaggeration.”

            Steve sighs and stays standing in place next to Sam. It’s unlikely with the serum that he’ll cramp up like a regular human if he sits down for a break halfway through his run, but in this heat, anything’s possible. “I’ll understand if he’s different. I don’t expect him to be the same. He’s been through a lot.”

            “I don’t know, man. I think he just needs time. It probably feels a hell of a lot safer for him to be remembering and working through the stuff in his head without worrying about friendships and your whole relationship thing on top of it.”

            “We weren’t--”

            “Steve. Man. I hunted for the guy with you for years. I don’t care what you called it back in the good old days, but it’s pretty clear it was a step beyond bros.”

            Steve sighs again, because Sam’s not wrong. “I just miss him.”

            “I know what you mean, but he’s right here. You and him are back together. What are the odds of that? I wouldn’t give that up for anything.”

            “Thanks, Sam.”

            “No problem. It’s what I’m here for. And the wings. That too.”

.

So Steve worries. He worries when Bucky doesn’t show up for a meal with the team for two days straight, even though he knows fruits are disappearing from the drawer that Bucky has claimed as his own in the fridge in the common kitchen, and he finds the remnants of a late night sandwich creation when Bucky leaves the loaf of bread and half a cupboard full of condiments on the counter.

He’s even more anxious about the matter when he realizes, a few weeks into the team being reunited at the palace, that he hasn’t seen Bucky show any sort of emotion since he’s woken up from cryo. Sure, he’ll crack a dry joke and smirk when everyone laughs, but beyond that, he doesn’t laugh or get frustrated or show any of the anger you’d expect from someone who, you know, has been tortured and brainwashed for decades.

Steve’s concerned that Bucky’s repressing his emotions too much. The old Bucky-- _no, damn._ He shouldn’t think of it that way. Back before the war, he means, Bucky was a fairly exuberant guy. He was outgoing to the point of being bubbly-- a real charmer, and honest with his emotions. No fake-tough-guy attitude like Steve. Just Bucky. Maybe Bucky’s having some sort of emotional breakthrough in his therapy sessions, but Steve sure doesn’t know about it, and it keeps him up at night.

Nothing makes him worry more, however, than when Bucky has finally joined the team for breakfast one day and has something close to a breakdown when Scott asks him what he wants to drink.

“We’ve got milk, orange juice, and plain water, I guess.”

No one pays him and Bucky any attention until Bucky just. Doesn’t answer.

“Buck?” Steve prompts, “which do you want?” He offers Bucky an easy smile.

Bucky remains frozen, leaning against the countertop of the island in the kitchen with his one arm balanced on the surface. He stares straight at Scott, who is beginning to look a little concerned. Understandably so, because the look that Bucky is giving him is one part Winter Soldier, and one part pure terror.

Steve isn’t quite sure what to do, other than to walk to the other side of the counter and lean against it so he can meet Bucky’s eyes. “Hey, pal. There’s no wrong answer. You can just tell us which one you want and we’ll get it for you.”

“I. Can’t,” Bucky grits through his teeth.

Steve ignores the way that makes him feel very, very prepared to show his wrath to the people who did this to Bucky. Using his fists. And guns, maybe, even though that isn’t usually his style. He ignores all this to try a different approach. “Okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to have any. We’ll just leave the drinks out and if you want one you can get it later.”

Bucky remains silent, shoulders hunched, hair spilling out of his bun and into his face, until Clint hops onto the seat next to him and starts chattering about something he found the other day while he was out on the grounds of the palace. Only then does Bucky start to lose some of the tenseness in his limbs and even reward Clint with a small smile. God bless Clint.

Steve knows Bucky can make choices sometimes. After all, he decides what to wear every day and decides how he wants to wash up and do his hair (and he’s _very_ particular about his hair, which is one thing Steve knows has stayed the same from before the war). He decides what he wants to eat from the fridge fairly often and when he wants to sleep. But when someone asks him to choose what he wants or enjoys, he falters.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t quite know how to enjoy things, Steve realizes. It just doesn’t compute.

Then, of course, Bucky rediscovers science.

.

            It’s one month from when Bucky is revived from cryo when Steve walks into the common living room to find Bucky crying while he watches something on the flatscreen TV on the wall.

            In a moment, he’s sprinted to the side of the couch where Bucky is sitting. “Buck? What’s wrong?”

Bucky doesn’t respond for a few seconds and Steve is very, very concerned that this is some new trigger that hadn’t been listed in the red book, and that he’ll need to do something quick to restrain Bucky if he goes rogue.

Then, Bucky gives a weak little laugh, and Steve furrows his brows. “What is it?”

Bucky has tear tracks on his cheeks, but he’s laughing. Properly laughing for the first time in a while. “I didn’t know.”

            “I’m… sorry?” Steve is crouched on the ground in front of the couch and he is very, very confused.

            “No one told me. I just-- I don’t know how, I just didn’t know about it.” He nods toward the screen and Steve finally turns to look, and--

            Oh.

            Bucky’s watching a documentary showing the footage from the first moon landing. Steve’s seen this before-- it was part of his crash course on 20th century history. Neil Armstrong is bouncing around on the grainy screen, the sky dark and the moon wide behind him. He’s just uttered the famous ‘one small step for man’ quote, and he’s making history.

            And Bucky, it seems, is driven to tears by it.

            “I didn’t know we did it. Made it to the moon, I mean. Wow. Wow. Steve, we did it!” And then he’s grinning and Steve remembers back in the 30s when Bucky used to save up pennies to buy 15 cent issues of _Popular Science._ There was a day in ‘37, maybe ‘38, when he flew into their apartment, door slamming behind him, waving the week’s copy of the magazine in front of Steve’s eyes and babbling about the rocket ship on front.

            “It’s a model they made for an expo,” Bucky had said as he kicked off his shoes and waved the magazine around, “and it’s gonna be put in this big planetarium, and they’re gonna show how people will be able to travel to space soon!”

            “Is that so?” Steve had said, grabbing the magazine from Bucky’s hands and spreading it neatly on his drawing table. “That seems like a load of--”

            “Nah, it’s real!” Bucky stood behind him and placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders while he leant into him, strong and warm, as he looked at the magazine. “Not yet, but soon. Isn’t that something? Human beings in outer space. Even the moon!”

            Steve had shaken his head and rolled his eyes at Bucky’s infallible faith in science, but he still humored him. After all, what made Bucky made Steve happy. Even in the next century when Steve had watched the videos of the lunar landing, he couldn’t help but give a bittersweet smile when he thought about how damn much Bucky would have loved the moment.

            But that was then, and this is now, and it looks like Bucky is just as happy about it as Steve thought he might be.

            “Steve? Did you hear me?” Bucky is waving his flesh hand in front of Steve’s eyes, brows furrowed at him.

            “What? Sorry, no-- I was thinking about something.”

            Bucky has the audacity to roll his eyes. “I asked if we’ve gone to the planets, too.”

            “Uh-- not yet. I think there are plans for Mars. But not anytime soon.” Steve finally lifts off his knees and sits gingerly on the couch next to Bucky. He’s relieved when Bucky doesn’t immediately shy away.

            “Damn. I hope they figure it out quickly.” Bucky fumbles around for the remote, then rewinds to watch Armstrong set foot on the moon again. “It’s kinda funny that no one thought to tell the guy who killed JFK that we landed on the moon.”

            Steve resisted the urge to cringe. If Bucky was joking about his past, then it probably wouldn’t be good to make him feel like he couldn’t talk about it without everyone else freaking out. “Sorry, pal. It sort of slipped my mind. I was kind of distracted with other things.”

            “Yeah, well, next time, let’s make the moon a priority.”

            “Okay. The moon’s a priority.”

            And that’s when Bucky gives Steve a wide grin that makes him look about ten years younger, and Steve feels a weight lift off his shoulders, because Bucky has truly found something he enjoys, and Steve is proud.

            They settle down and watch documentaries about the Space Race for hours, continuing even when Sam, Natasha, and T’Challa join them, and Bucky has a smile on his face almost the entire time. It takes Steve a while to recognize the light feeling in his chest as unbridled hope.

.

            Of course, like Steve’s been told a million times before, two steps forward is always accompanied by another step backward. He’s reminded of this like a sharp slap to the face when he walks in on Bucky clutching a knife close to the nape of his neck.

            He tackles Bucky in less than a second, pinning the knife-wielding hand as far away from any important organs as possible. Thank god it’s the right hand-- even he has a hard time stopping the metal one. Yet when he looks down to make sure the blade hasn’t come into contact with anything important, he sees that Bucky has already dropped it to the floor.

            “Jesus. Warn a guy next time.”

            “What the fuck, Bucky?” Steve keeps his hands tight around Bucky’s arm, despite the absence of the knife now. The arm goes limp, unresisting, despite how tense the rest of Bucky’s body is.

            “I mean, I knew you came in,” and this is no surprise, considering Bucky’s quite frankly terrifyingly astute observational skills, “but I wasn’t expecting such a fond greeting. Most guys go for a handshake. Or a high five.”

            Steve sighs. He knows better than anyone that sass is a defensive technique. “What were you doing?”

            Bucky’s brow furrows. He glances at the knife, then back up to Steve, and a smirk ghosts across his face before disappearing. “You thought I was going to hurt myself, didn’t you?”

            “You were holding a knife to your neck, Buck. It’s not a ridiculous conclusion to come to.”

            “God, Steve.” He leans down to pick up his knife but doesn’t get very far before Steve gets a better grip on his arm and pulls him up again.

            “If you’re feeling that way then you gotta know that it’s not the right solution. I know-- I understand the temptation, but we care about you a lot, Buck, and we don’t want you hurting yourself. You need to be safe. You’re worth it. The therapists--”

            “Christ, Stevie.” And god, is this the first time Bucky’s called him Stevie since the 1940s? “I was trying to cut my goddamn hair.”

            “Oh.”

            “Thanks, though. That’s real sweet.”

            Steve flushes as he leans down to pick up the knife, stiff when he realizes how close he and Bucky are. There are several points of contact between them, hot to the touch. Closer than they’ve been in decades, other than in fighting scenarios. Steve shakes his head to clear memories of other, other-- well, compromising positions that he and Bucky have been in, back in the past. This isn’t the same, he reminds himself. Despite the fact that right now Bucky was calm and loose-limbed and sounded like he was getting his Brooklyn drawl back. “I-- sorry. I’m sorry.”

            “Nah, now that you’re here, you might as well help me.”

            Steve brings a finger to his own chest, wondering if Bucky is actually referring to him. “Me?”

            “You’re the only other guy in the room, pal.”

            “I don’t have any experience cutting hair.”

            “Well, I used to do yours, so I s’pose I can at least tell you what to do and hope you’ve finally learned to follow directions.”

            “You remember that?” That’s more than Bucky’s offered to share about his memories at all since they first ran into him after Romania.

            Seemingly unaware of this breakthrough, Bucky chooses not to respond, instead taking the knife from Steve and swiping a piece of lint off the blade.

            Steve wants to say something else about the matter-- to ask Bucky if he remembers how he’d never, ever let Steve near his hair with scissors in the past; too protective of his precious coif to risk it. He’d always get one of his sisters to cut it, or else save up money for a proper barber. But. Well, things are different now, apparently.

            So he stays silent while Bucky demonstrates the correct angle to cut hair with the knife, then takes it and cautiously tests the weight of it in his hand. It’s a nice knife. Steve doesn’t like the fact that Bucky always seems to be carrying at least a dozen of them on his person, but he can appreciate the quality of the knives.

            Once Steve is somewhat more knowledgeable about the art of cutting hair, Bucky settles back down on the couch and tilts his head to give Steve a better angle to work at. And this-- this feels nice, just being in Bucky’s presence again, calm, no words needed. It’s something Steve never thought he’d ever get to experience again in his life. If he wasn’t concentrating so hard on making Bucky’s hair look somewhat presentable, he might even get choked up about it. But that’s not the case. He’s very concerned with getting the haircut right.

            “Why aren’t you doing this in your room?” Steve asks when he’s halfway done (hopefully).

            It takes Bucky a while to answer, but Steve’s getting used to this. He’s much more apt to stay silent while he considers what to say, now. Finally, he turns a little bit to face in Steve’s direction while he talks, although he doesn’t make eye contact. “I didn’t want to get the hair all over my carpet.”

            “So you decided to get hair all over the living room we all use?!”

            Bucky gives the tiniest of snorts. “Yup.”

            Steve shakes his head at that and goes back to work.

            When he’s done and Bucky hops up off the couch to go check his hair in the bathroom mirror, Steve holds in his breath, anticipating the worst from Bucky. After all, Bucky is an absolute drama queen about his hair.

            It comes as an unexpected but definitely welcome surprise when Bucky returns to the kitchen with a smile on his face. A small one, but still a smile. “Looks good, Stevie. Not even that choppy.”

            Steve nods. Bucky does look good, but he’s not sure if they’re at the point yet where he’s allowed to say that.

            “Yeah, I thought you’d like it. It makes me look like him.”

            Steve almost lets that comment slide, but he can’t quite it happen. “What do you mean, Buck?”

            “Original Bucky, I mean. It looks like his hair.”

            Steve feels himself warm in anger, and then the anger stops and is replaced with numbness. “You are him,” he insists. Surely Bucky understands that.

            Bucky laughs again, but this time, it’s short and bitter. “No, I’m not. He died decades ago. Probably the moment he realized you weren’t coming, or sometime around then.”

            Steve wonders if Bucky realizes how much his words are killing Steve, and he considers asking him that, but it hurts too much, so he stands up and heads out of the room before he does something stupid. He really, truly doesn’t know how to respond to Bucky when the only thing he can feel is dirty, thick, dark _guilt._

            He’s stepping through the doorway when Bucky calls out after him, “And don’t worry about me offing myself. I don’t plan on it. Anyway, that’s more of your thing.”

            This does make Steve pause. “What?”

            “Don’t play games with me, Rogers. The team’s said stuff. When you first woke up, how hopeless you were? How you wouldn’t talk to anyone about it? Dumbass.”

            And these are exactly the kind of things that Steve has spent years avoiding thinking about, so this time, he does leave.

.

            After a few more weeks of slow, slow progress, Bucky is coming out of his shell. The others are a little bit surprised at first when he shows such a strong interest in science (Steve doesn’t know how they could be surprised, but then again, they’re not the ones that Bucky dragged to the Stark Expo in 1943), but they’re glad to play along, each showing their favorite films and TV shows to Bucky. They all settle down on the couch in the common area and work through half a century of science fiction together, laughing and chatting and becoming friends. Through this, Bucky begins to not only accept touch from others, but also seek out physical contact whenever he can.

            From everyone except Steve, of course.

            Steve tries to understand. Really-- he can’t expect Bucky to want to go back to that quiet, tentative arrangement they’d had before the war. If asked to identify it in modern terms, well. Steve would have a difficult time explaining the intricacies, but we would, in fact, say that they were boyfriends. They lived together, slept together, and loved together, but they both understood that there was no future for them as a couple. One day, Steve knew, Bucky would find a girl who really had everything, and he’d make her his wife. Steve would be expected to do the same. That was their future.

            But now. Well. Things are different. They lost that future sometime between Bucky stepping onto the ship to cross the Atlantic and Steve plunging an airplane into the same great big ocean. And in its place is something that Steve can’t help but believe is a wild, miraculous second chance.

            Still, it’s been decades and Bucky is a different person. Steve is a different person. He understands that people can fall out of love easily, without any reason-- and Bucky has no shortage of potential reasons. There’s a great big list of things, from “Steve let me fall” to “decades of abuse and torture and trauma has turned me off of romance forever.”

            Steve understands, really. Yet even so, his heart hurts whenever Bucky curls up around Clint on the couch, slings his arm around Sam, or gently braids Wanda’s hair. His heart leaps when he sees Bucky is healing and then it buries itself in the pit of his stomach when he realizes that Bucky always manages to avoid touching Steve. If they used to be inseparable with a force that was nearly magnetic, they’ve somehow flip flopped, and now Bucky is the side of the magnet that repels Steve. He just can’t wait to pull away from him, every time.

            And this feels unnatural, because Bucky has always been handsy. When they were children he’d grab Steve’s hand and tug him away from whatever scuffle he’d gotten himself into; once they were too old for that to be acceptable, he’d just sling an arm around his shoulder and walk side by side with him. He’d been handsy all the way up until the war-- and then he wasn’t. After initially gripping Steve with terrified, shaking hands at Azzano, he’d just stopped.

            Steve didn’t know what was wrong at the time. Now, he has a few ideas. Was Bucky backing off because he thought that Peggy Carter had replaced him (she hadn’t-- no, Steve loved Peggy, but she was never a replacement for James Buchanan Barnes)? Or was he isolating himself because he knew-- he must have known-- that Zola’s serum was making its way through his body; not quite like a parasite, but like an upgrade. Steve’s heart does another funny thing when he realizes that Bucky gave up some of his rations to Steve every night anyway, even though he must have been starving, and that the slow stretch and tug of the growth on Bucky’s muscles must have hurt. Badly.

            And he didn’t have any kind scientists to explain it to him, or Peggy to keep him sane. He had Steve Rogers, who was so distracted by being Captain Fucking America that he didn’t even notice that his best friend was changing.

            Anyway, the whole gist of that train of thought is that Steve would understand if Bucky hates science for what it’s done to him. In fact, he’s kind of confused by how easily Bucky is embracing new science and technology-- voraciously reading his magazines, ordering books about space programs and dinosaurs, even strolling over to the medical facilities and pestering T’Challa’s staff with a million questions about the biotechnology they use. This only increases in frequency when he’s fitted with a brand new metal arm and he decides to learn every single aspect of the science that goes into it.

            Steve is so confused that he asks Bucky about it one day and gets an eye roll and a small _huff_ for his trouble.

            “Buck, I can’t read your mind. You’re going to have to explain what you mean.”

            “Wanda could read my mind,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, swearing as his spoon breaks in his new metal hand while he stirs cake mix. He tosses the broken halves into the sink, where they join several other fallen comrades.

            Steve sighs. “That’s not quite how it works. Please, just use your words.” Under his breath, he adds, “God knows you know how to do that. Never used to shut up.”

            Bucky spins and fixes him with a glare. “I heard that.”

            “Right, super hearing. Come on, Buck. Words.”

            Bucky hands Steve the bowl without warning. Steve circles one arm around it and holds it tight to his torso, not sure what Bucky wants him to do until he’s handed a wooden spoon as well. He begins to stir while Bucky talks.

            “So, the way I see it, science never did anything wrong to me.”

            “The serum was used against you. Your arm hurt you.”

            “Nah, you’ve got it all wrong.” Bucky sprays a can of something into a cake pan, then sets the pan on the counter. “Science never hurt me. People did.”

            Steve supposes this is correct, so instead of saying something else, he shows Bucky the smooth mix in his bowl.

            “That’s perfect. Thanks.” Bucky takes the bowl and turns away, his back to Steve, and pours it into a pan. He says nothing else, but Steve knows a dismissal when he sees one and leaves Bucky alone to finish his baking in peace.

.

            Steve thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to understand a bit more about how Bucky operates now. So he figures it’s a good idea to sit in on one of the team’s movie nights and try to learn a bit more about what’s been making Bucky happy lately.

            Somehow, though, he manages to doze off halfway through one of the _Star Wars_ movies, and only wakes up when Bucky bursts into wild, unrestrained cackling. The sound shocks Steve and he springs up to full attention. Thankfully, the only one who notices is Natasha, and she just sets her hand on Steve’s knee and gently maneuvers him back onto the couch.

            “It’s just a movie. We’re all safe.”   

            Steve nods and turns to watch Bucky’s hysterical fit. On the screen, some boy has just lost his hand, and Bucky finds this _hilarious_.

            “He’s--” Bucky can’t even continue, laughing too hard to make a proper sentence. “Me too! Me too!” He waves his left arm. “Just like me!” He clumsily slides off of where he’s between Sam and Clint on the couch and stands right next to the TV, striking a pose. “We’re twins. Look at us. It’s perfect.”

            Everyone else, buzzed on beers and the atmosphere of the room, is laughing as well. Steve really doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he’s really liking how everyone is getting along. Maybe they do have a chance of working as a team again. He settles back down while they finish the movie, although he’s watching Bucky more than the screen.

            Once it’s over and the credits begin to roll, Bucky snaps his head to look at Steve quicker than should even be possible. He catches Steve staring right at him, but instead of saying anything, he just smiles warmly and nods at Steve as he stands up. “Board games now? Or cards?”

            After a quick vote, they decide on Monopoly, which Steve is happy about.

            He quickly realizes his mistake. Playing games with Bucky is very different from playing games without Bucky because Bucky knows all his tricks.

            “How the hell are you still winning?” Sam finally gives up after Steve’s turn, half an hour into the game, and knocks all of the houses off the board.

            The others groan at the disruption of the game, but Bucky just leans back in his chair and takes another sip of his beer. “It’s because he’s cheating.”

            Sam voice raises several octaves as he turns on Steve. “What? WHAT?”

            Steve grins, sheepish. “In my defense, I thought you all had noticed by now.” 

            Sam doesn’t even reward this with a response. Instead, he makes some loud but incoherent sounds as he takes Steve’s pile of money and hands it over to Bucky. “I can’t believe…” he trails off, grumbling more.

            Bucky takes the money and adds it to his stacks. “He also cheats at cards and marbles.”

            “You’d think the archetype of good ol’ American family values and capitalism would have a bit more of a moral compass!” Sam insists.

            “Capitalism?” Bucky nearly spits out the sip of beer he’s just taken. “Steve’s a socialist!”

            The outburst after that thoroughly ends the game, and they put away the board and take out a Jenga set while Sam mumbles about how “surely Steve can’t cheat at this, that bastard.”

            Satisfied with the light mood and still a little bit embarrassed about having his cheating exposed, Steve opts out and instead heads to the kitchen for another drink. He considers the beer options and instead goes for a soda-- after all, it’s not like beer does anything for him anyway. Bucky’s tolerance is a little less severe, but still, beer doesn’t do anything. A dozen shots of vodka is another story, as Bucky and Clint had found out the week before.

            And, speak of the devil-- when he turns from getting a glass from the cupboard, Bucky is standing a foot away from him.

            “Christ!” Steve doesn’t drop the glass, but it’s a near thing. “Buck-- you scared the living daylight outta me.”     

            “Sorry.” He doesn’t move away.

            “Buck? What’s up?” Steve doesn’t back up, either. If Bucky is finally getting close to him by choice, he’s not going to be the one to mess it up.

            “I’m ready now.”

            “What?”

            That’s when he kisses Steve, and it’s pretty much everything Steve’s been wanting for seventy-odd years, and he’s happy. Before long, Bucky’s arm is resting on his waist, cool metal fingers just barely grazing the skin between the hem of his shirt and his pants. His own hands are tangled up in Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s not going to be happy at how mussed up his hair will be after this, but right now, neither of them care-- they really, really don’t care, because kissing each other feels like going home.

            Steve’s not sure if the kiss lasts a minute or an hour, but eventually Bucky pulls away to take a deep breath and grin at Steve. “I’m glad you feel the same way.”

            “Buck.” Steve is breathless. “I love you.”

            “I know.” Bucky grins at Steve and it seems like he’s missing a joke, but how can he care when he’s alive and Bucky’s alive and they have each other?

            Most things are still fucked, of course. Bucky still doesn’t quite think he’s a person and sometimes Steve feels guiltier than he tells anybody, and the whole issue with being global fugitives is definitely something they should deal with soon. Everything is fucked, but this is good. It’s really good, so they don’t bother detaching from each other’s greedy arms as they walk back to the living room and settle onto the couch, where the others have left room for them. They sit and watch their friends and Bucky keeps his arm slung over Steve’s shoulders like he used to.

            “Hey, Steve.”

            “Yeah?”

            Bucky turns his head to face him, only a few inches away. “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”

            “That’s… real sweet, Buck.”

            Beside them, Clint snorts. “He’s quoting _Star Trek_ at you, man.”

            At this, Steve grins, and Bucky does too.

            “What can I say?” Bucky says as he turns to Clint. “I love science, and I love him.”

            And Steve just nods, because he’s never heard anything truer.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't notice during the fic, I'm of the "Steve Rogers Is Depressed And The Team Is Finally Starting To Notice" camp. Steve and Bucky's relationship obviously isn't a fix-it for that, so it's a topic I will probably will write about again sometime. Bucky also still has a whole slew of issues with guilt and self-perception and all sorts of things, so, guess what? I'll probably write more about that eventually too.  
> Hope you enjoyed!  
> If you're interested in more, you can follow me on tumblr at egaliteoulamort.tumblr.com.


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